Fallen Star
by quingay
Summary: Burned out, exploding in silence, some things should have never been.
1. Fallen Star

It's the same cycle each day. Wake up, dread going outside, hide. It's become a companion for Spock, a friend and foe. Others would shy away; he, on the other hand, accepts it.

Spock doesn't know what he did to make others hate him. Taunted, tormented, teased, and pushed around.

But he accepts it.

He's reminded of how he's not good enough, how his mother is a whore, his father an idiot and disgrace. He's an abomination, a wrong in the universe full of rights; a constellation of emotions waiting to burst out.

But he lets it slide over him.

Sometimes.

On the particularly bad days, when nothing is going right, his parents are fighting, he hides.

He's learnt to hide. He's become invisible, blending into the shadows that threaten to engulf him. Taking refuge in empty classrooms, run down buildings, under the bed and anywhere else he can squeeze into.

Like a tree, he's learnt to build his defenses. Roots that grew around his heart, so no one could hurt him. Nothing can touch him, no one but his mother. Instead of falling apart, he stills the shaking leaves of his turmoil and bites his lip. Sometimes he lashes out, resulting in bloody cheeks and split lips, sometimes he doesn't.

But it's become his life.

Spock doesn't think he'll achieve a friendship, not until he leaves Vulcan and goes to a different planet. He could escape on a shuttle, meant for transporting foods and supplies. But each time he thinks of running away, the image of his mother, crying and broken, floods his brain and he knows he can't leave.

Not yet, anyway.

When it storms on his planet, though rarely, the abuse seems to grow tenfold. His peers are antsy, ruffled by the taste of dust in their mouths, the trickles of water that their robes can't quite absorb fully.

This is the time Spock dreads the most.

Empty rooms, dark, the stench of mold and insufficient use high. Holding his body, barely keeping it together, strings becoming frayed; dirty with dust and secrets, gathering in age.

Huddled in a corner, drenched in his own tears, hidden away from the world. He listens to the sounds of the outside world, the occasional shriek of a le-matya, the whir of a passing shuttle and the murmurs of others. The ticking of a clock, of sandals and bare feet, against wood and tile. Hollow, loud, digging into Spock's chest.

He won't be able to forgive or forget soon.

A muffled whimper, a sob that threatens to tear him apart. A click of a door, a gasp as the door is wrenched open. A glimmer of hope passes through Spock, maybe someone cares. Perhaps someone heard and is here to comfort him. Before he has time to dry his eyes and recollect himself, the hooded cloak is sneering. Locking him, closing him off from the outside world, those who don't want him, prefer him gone, shut off and lonely.

Maybe one day it will be easier.


	2. Lumbre

**Author's note: Originally, I wasn't going to continue this, but I decided to create one for space and adult life.**

* * *

_Don't grieve, Admiral. It is logical. The needs of the many outweigh... _

_...the needs of the few... _

_...Or the one. _

_I have been and always shall be your friend. _

_Live long and prosper._

_- Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan_

* * *

He was a supernova, overpowering and dominating. Emotional in the response of not wanting to go, dead inside, hidden away by lock and key. Taking life, creating it, saving others, his heart was a black hole; sucking away every good thing that he's ever had, starting at his birth, to the death of his love, his planet, and his mother. The Enterprise, its crew members, was his planet, the center of his universe, but he was an apogee, slowly but surely floating away from them, no longer feeling needed.

Spock was a comet, a constellation, and profound but out of reach. Only one could be fast enough to reach him, slapping his shoulders and shocking him from his torpor. Watching after him, wanting to reach back and feel that reassurance once again. Wanting nothing more than to touch his every limb, run his thumb over that jaw, and to kiss his fingertips. Wanting to feel some sort of love; longing underneath the steel exterior.

Growing up with hate and hurt in an environment void of all that a basic human needed; bloody knuckles and black eyes adorned him like a Christmas tree. Darkness overtook him, eating away at him from the inside out, picking at his skin like a knife. Instead of happiness, he overheard fights that were centered around him, threats of leaving, and words of love on rare occasions. His mind was taken over by demons, rocking the center of his universe under his feet. Nights were hard, because it was dark and it reminded him of the places he hid to not be harmed. Space was a difficult to go into alone, but he had someone watching over him, just like he watched over everyone on his crew. Jim Kirk was a father figure, an absolute point, a statue in a storm.

His walls were broken by a man he was supposed to hate, detest because of his emotions. He watched as that same man fucked his way through women on shore leave, sometimes men, as he showed up at late hours to his quarters, worn out and unable to sleep. Without a word, he would lift his covers and envelope him in warmth, watch as his breath billowed out from his slightly chapped lips. Spock had no absolute control; all he could do was stay awake and pretend to be asleep when Jim left again before others woke, a fissure being created in him.

He promised himself, one of these days he would tell Jim.

When on break, he would go visit Bones, and receive a series of teasing. Leonard was the only one who knew how he felt, or so he wanted to make himself believe. Instead of telling him it was illogical, he would let him lay on the biobed for a while and make himself comfortable until he wanted to leave. Some days when he wasn't busy, he would carry a chair over to where Spock was laying and rest his forehead against his waist, and make him feel at home. Those were the moments Spock enjoyed Leonard's company the most; although they were still sassing each other, it wasn't as much because neither had to put up a front. They talked about everything, sometimes jumping to a new conversation in the middle of a sentence. Once, when Spock was deprived, he lifted his hand towards Bones' head, and felt a swirl of colors and emotions. Leonard swatted his hand away quickly, which had hurt Spock, but it was soon discovered it was because he had to sneeze and he didn't want to accidentally hurt Spock. Spock nearly smiled at that.

Tragedy struck soon after.

Spock told himself that he would tell Jim, today was the day, it was now or never. Except, he didn't get the chance, because the same day the idiot decided to get himself killed.

Spock sat next to the radioactive chamber, angry at being left behind and at Khan, for killing the one person he thought he could spend forever with. He gave no shits about who saw him right now, he was devastated and his t'hy'la was dying, all alone with no one to hold his hand through it. His lip quivered, unable to suppress his emotions. His thoughts ripped through him at light speed, the most frequent being, _"Why?" _Fresh tracks pooled down his cheeks, dripping onto the tiles below. Spock was going through mental anguish; he felt the bond he had formed with Jim being ripped away. He knew now what it felt like after the catastrophic demolition of Vulcan, when life partners were killed and the other was left living. It felt like he was being torn to pieces, starting at his mind and working its way through his body. There was fear of the unknown in Jim's eyes, and suddenly Spock knew he couldn't let this go. He watched as his eyes no longer held the familiar sparkle. Taking a steadying breath, he gritted his teeth and yelled in anguish.

He knew this was a suicide mission, only an idiot would go after a dangerous criminal.

He opened his eyes to see Jim, standing behind Khan. He nearly yelled to get away, leave; he could take care of this, when Uhura stepped through him. A sputtered gasp and Spock had the upper hand again. A flashback crossed in front of his eyes, and he was looking at his childhood bullies once more. A whimper escaped his lips, and he threw his fists with everything he had. He felt the sickening sound of bone cracking; the iron smell invaded his nostrils like smoke. Uhura had to peel him off, telling him to stop; they could save Jim if they had Khan alive. One more throw, and he was sitting on top of the unconscious corpse, glaring at the man who took his life away.

He didn't feel when Chekov and Scotty beamed them up, didn't notice when they had to physically peel him off of the body, didn't care when they sent him to his quarters. He was emotionally comprised, mentally sick and in need of a way out. Spock decided to wait, to see what this brilliant idea Bones had come with was, if it would even work.

It took weeks, but to Spock it felt like years. When he heard that Jim was awake, he sprinted his way to the medbay. Outside the doors, the reflection showed him just how ruffled and _dead _he looked. With a gulp, he pushed his way into the room, blinded by the instruments and artificial light. How long has it been since he's seen light?

His t'hy'la, his Jim, was smiling at him the moment he caught sight of him. It took all of Spock's previous training to not fall apart and fling himself at Jim. Instead, he took hold of his hand, kissed the knuckles and looked down at him, whispering, "I will not let you go, t'hy'la."

Jim knew, he wasn't an idiot. He knew Spock's hidden meaning, and he accepted it. Like the many times Spock took him in and gave him warmth, it was Jim's turn to give Spock love. Lifting his sheet up, he pulled Spock by the hand and made him lay down. Spock refused to leave after that, even if it messed up the scans on the monitor above the bed. Bones, nor Chapel, had the heart to sedate him and carry him away. They brought two meals instead of one from now on, stole a blanket from the extra supplies for when one wasn't enough to keep both the bodies warm.

Spock was happy; he was delighted to no longer have secrets. He felt at home, truly accepted, loved and needed.


End file.
